bouzouki’s ramblings
There is only one life that I control, and that is certainly an iffy proposition a good percentage of the time. I have my version of reality and there are times that I would gladly give it over to another, but they would at least have to understand my sense of humor, and i notice many only take their religion seriously. i figure if God can’t take a joke, why does it allow laughter. i tend to lean toward the Tao, since it is so easy to pin it down and keep tabs on this process. My main form of getting in touch is music, so I am deaf in one ear. a musician’s nightmare to be sure, but if I can’t take what is coming, it is going to be a real drag for as long as I shuffle along this mortal coil. I find that my opinions are definitely deeply entrenched, and I usually toss out small bits, knowing that mine are only mine, and for the most part, I don’t have to share them, unless it seems appropriate or I allow myself to exhibit behavior that I recognize as somewhat unproductive, like I allow myself to get a little pissy about what I hear, read, or is shoved down my throat. Once that opening is made, my ego is more than willing to exert itself, showing me to be no different than what I consider my detractor. Ego is a convenient word for a strange conceptual, and personal framework. It is who I think I am, when I am not who I really am. Ahh,..it is so full of our selves, each one claiming to be someone, and more than willing to defend against the being within. the more I fight, the stronger it gets, and if I just watch myself, that being is able to shine a bit more. When I am doing better with my living, I realize we are all attempting to make sense of what we experience, For the vast majority, that means feeding the ego and that vast empty hole of doubt, fear, lust, urges, need for power, or money or sexual conquest, or hatred; and guided by the watchful eye of how to explain and justify their actions. it is easier to kill the messenger than to heed the message. As I write this, I can only laugh at myself, who am I to tell anyone that I know something. all I have are my own experiences, and many are quick to tell me that there is no validity to what I have experienced, mostly because it has been outside the sanctioned definition of reality and I refuse to believe that anyone has a monopoly on what is. Having only this moment, I have to constantly reinvent, and of course I forget, but I keep coming back to taking a breath. There is a lurking suspicion that if I were to stop inhaling, something would change, and I am not quite ready for that. I think this is always more enjoyable if we could be talking about this face to face, after enjoying food, and a glass of wine, or sitting around a campfire, staring at the stars. I think that we talk over and around it until we either get sleepy or we can allow the silence to enter in, and that is the hard part, being full of ego, and making it stop to sense the beautiful being in all of you…. Its enough to make me exhale, almost a sigh, to reach out and feel your being, testing words against your experience, dropping the pretense there is nothing here to protect except the cocoa in my coffee,just another vice or habit, part of living, but I have this tendency to discern what is real against the backdrop of the drama of life. what are we consciously doing, thinking and why that? “That being said, those are only opinions, and you and I know there are about as many different opinions as people. In the final analysis it really doesn’t matter.” I forget where I heard that quote, but I agree, it is fun, though, to be able to play with my thoughts out in the open, being wordy while being aware that I could just as well shut up!, do the dishes, my chores, and eat a tree ripe peach.
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Oooo bouzouki, this might seem strange, but we have some common ground starting with music and the tao and even playing with our thoughts out in the open, though lately Coal’s brainstorms have my mind working to keep up in order to play like the devil later.
So–on this music thing of yours–what do YOU listen to? Toss out some names/titles for some sense of what your ears are addicted to. Come on, type it up.
From where I sit, the words can’t clash, as close as those that flew past me, I agree they have the space, and they recognize my face, ‘ but when the roof will rise and I can see the starry skies, i’ll think about how the love we share can happen anywhere, not to consummate, or ever desecrate, but complicate how we interact. the doorway bends, and when it ends, you’ll see right through,and i say to you, “Hi, I’m flawed from the beginning.. You must have missed our introduction. I’m a friend of the bouzouki, although I hear he isn’t here. i’m actually looking for that buffalo, ….. buffalo girls won’t you come out tonight, come tonight come out tonight, Hi, I’m Floyd, but they call me flawed because i make so many mistakes. I’m not worried about who knows it, it’s just the facts. Well, not everything is a misteak,, I mean mistake, oh crap, if i had any sense at all, …. Bouzouki told me to meet him here, because he had something to go tell Coal. i’d go tell coal, but that Ichibod fellow, he gives me the creeps. To be chased by the headless horseman and still think straight
i don’t know where Bouzouki is. did I already tell you that? I don’t think he went alone, but he sure is gone. I don’t think he is alone, in being gone… I have to keep on pausing, or it doesn’t look right. Its like trying to pretend that my thoughts are flowing right along but I actually have to jump start this whole process time and time again.
bouzouki has seen his share of suffering, but he doesn’t sing the blues all that much. He’s got relatives he never knew in Ireland and Greece, and Turkey. He never invited me to meet any of them and I really did not think that he had much kin and all.. Then again, you get a musical instrument around a bunch of others and the whole group is related in some way or another.
As for me, being flawed usually means I can’t count to four, much less eight or twelve. I’d be amazed if I actually found my way to where bouzouki rambles. sometimes I can follow him and sometimes not, like anyone, we all think we understand until we find that it makes no sense and we are left with a big ? stamped on our forehead.
If we are all fragments of the same being, why are we all so different? maybe we are all different enough that we appear to be separate beings and we create imaginary lines between us to make the act of playing out the drama appear more real. mostly water, and where has all that water been? Its not all from some pristine glacier, or pumped from wells that take out water that is 60 million years from seeing the light of the sun. There are plenty of molecules that were part of a fish, or rushing down a mountain stream before it was caught and I drank it last night.
all that iron that makes my blood red came from somewhere, and its not from eating nails or chewing the ore and spitting out the slag, but maybe Coal knows more than I do about that. And then I think about what I ate, leaves of lettuce, and fresh tomatoes. Water in their own right, along with whatever it takes to grow a plant…like a tree. bouzouki is mostly a tree, as far as I can tell, maple and spruce and rosewood and ebony. Kind of a mixture like the rest of us.
when bouzouki and I get together, we connect, and sometimes there is no separation, we are one being, even if I am a walking contradiction, making mistakes that lead to new horizons. The thing I like about dimensional quantum mechanics is that I can make it mean whatever I want it to mean and who can say otherwise, except someone who really understands that stuff and I don’t. what can I say, I’m flawed.
In the worlds of the space/time continuum, where imagination is allowable, even dreams are real. sleep is necessary for most of us, and we are all shocked by change. As change is a constant and there is no telling how and what the universe defines as its limits, our imagination appears as relatively insignificant. To separate what is assumed as a unified whole, into constituent parts, to carry the internal conversation to define different points of view, even in the limited scope of a poorly told story, often in view of many greater concepts of others, still cannot reach the vast boundaries of the universe. What is nothing, if nothing is beyond the universe?
A dimension, two dimensional, third dimension, Fourth or Fifth dimension. How many?
Only FLOD knows… hes got limits.